Slip of Memory
by AvisQuest9513
Summary: Kink meme prompt response: "… if you dwell too much on the past, you forget to live in the present. If you think too much about how much better things were before, you can lose yourself in nostalgia. Some people don't have happy memories to lose themselves in at all, and to be reminded of their childhood is the last thing they want to do. She's the guardian of memory."


Title: Slip of Memory

Summary: Kink meme prompt response: "… if you dwell too much on the past, you forget to live in the present. If you think too much about how much better things were before, you can lose yourself in nostalgia. Some people don't have happy memories to lose themselves in at all, and to be reminded of their childhood is the last thing they want to do. She's the guardian of memory and that's a very, very deep thing to be guarding, and I want something on that."

Pairing(s): None

Rating: K+

Warning(s): Death and implied child neglect.

Word Count: 864

* * *

Memories are the fingerprints of experience. Without them, life is a grim unknown.

* * *

She is thirty-five.

Her beauty is common – some might even say plain – but when she smiles, her eyes hold a serene wonder. A housewife and mother of two, her life is hardly ever relaxed. There is always warm food to prepare, bedcovers to tug in, floors to be swept, hair to be brushed, and dishes to be cleaned. Nonetheless, she smiles and smiles often.

Today, though, there was not a smile on her face. Once her husband was off to work and her children off to school, she crept past the halls and unlatched the attic door quietly, despite the house's silence. Inside the attic, she found an old chest. Opening it, she scrambled through the pile of stuff. Her hands felt something thick and heavy.

It was her senior class yearbook.

Flipping through the pages, she paused every so often to recall a funny anecdote about so and so. She stopped when she came across his picture.

Johnny smiled at the camera, all proper and gentleman-like in a bow tie and suit – a far cry from his usual behavior. Her Johnny was a rambunctious fellow. She remembered how he would nudge her shoulder and crack a joke under his breath about a teacher. She remembered how he would grin even when he was the butt of a joke. She remembered the first time he called her lonesome self over and offered to share a malt. She remembered the first time he called her Blondie. She remembered how he hugged her at graduation and talked animatedly about medical school.

But, most of all, she remembered how he died in the Vietnam War, still fresh from high school.

* * *

He is ninety-three.

A retired accountant, he resides in a tiny, dingy apartment on the outskirts of a grand city. A few kids pass his apartment each day to point and laugh at him, the pathetic, old man. He scowls at them. He is small, feeble with saggy cheeks and dull eyes. A mere cough causes him to heave violently. Any stronger action makes him double over.

With the blinds drawn up, he rested in his favorite – and only – rocking chair. Swaying back and forth, he closed his eyes and dreamt. He saw a younger-bodied version of himself kissing the hand of a young lady. She giggled in response and grinned at his younger self. With a saucy wink, his younger self strutted towards the center of a large stage. He stood there, fedora down on his handsome face. Lifting it up by a bit, he started to dance.

He was a real somebody.

He danced, laughed, cried, sang, screamed in front of hundreds of thousands of adoring crowds. The silver screen was also not a stranger. No matter how busy he was with the stage, he always tried to star in, at least, one movie production per year. Every event he went, women hollered for him and waved signs to show their support. Some even asked for a kiss. Those were the glory days. He had everything he possibly desired, everything he ever wanted, but, now, all he had was a woolen sofa, a chipped coffee mug, and a sour reality.

Groaning, he turned his head and snored.

Later that afternoon, the pathetic, old man died due to a water balloon misfire.

* * *

She is eleven.

She is pretty, tiny, and dainty – a perfect, little flower. Always obedient, always easy to fold, she is a hungry, lonely, little girl.

Every day, she could hear the laughter of other children as they chased each other in a winter wonderland. Her eyes watched, but her body never joined. Mother thought it foolish to frolic and play.

"A proper lady," she often said with a sniff, "must, above all, keep a high level of dignity."

A long time ago, she asked her mother what a child is supposed to be like. Her mother simply frowned, patted her head, and set her off to her tutor. Her mother did not speak to her for the remainder of the week and would often scowl in her direction. That moment should have been a sign that, perhaps, children are boorish creatures and, yet, she cannot help, but be fascinated.

A familiar young boy passed by her house. She waved at him and was sad that he did not notice her still. Frowning, she laid her head on her arms and blew a lock of hair away from her face.

Her mother then called.

Scrambling, she closed the curtains, took her many books, and ran to the study. Upon arrival, her mother narrowed her eyes. Upon notice of her panting, her mother snapped that she was to never run in this house again.

"Y-Yes, mother," the little girl replied, eyes downcast.

* * *

Tooth flew over to a new capsule and grinned when she saw sparkling white baby teeth. Those were simply too precious! Slipping the capsule into a slot, she flew over to a new one and frowned when she discovered cavity-ridden little teeth. She picked a tooth up and examined it closely.

She bit back a gasp at what she saw.

* * *

**A/N****: Reviews very much appreciated. Please tell me what you thought.**


End file.
